Confirmation
by ErikaaDiLante
Summary: An alternate spin on the conversation between Tony and Gibbs in 8x21. Rated T for swearing. Includes Tiva. Inspired by a request from InherentlyRandom.


**OMG HAI! I don't know if ANYBODY knows who I am anymore, but I'm ErikaaDiLante, here with my first fanfiction in forever and a day. So I was watching one of my favorite YouTubers InherentlyRandom (she has an AMAZING NCIS Vlog. All of you reading this go check it out, now), and she wanted somebody to write this fanfiction. Now I haven't done this in forever, I'm tired, sick, and it's late, so this probably sucks, but I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon of what I'm sure is a million people honoring her request! :D Spoilers for 8x21. Don't read if you don't wanna know! Otherwise, enjoy the story! :D**

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><p>I paced back and forth at the doorway to the basement, <em>his<em> basement. This conversation had been a long time coming, but somehow I had kept putting it off. I kept telling myself that he didn't know, that he couldn't know, but Gibbs _always _knew. I don't really know why I was surprised. I mean, it wasn't like we could keep it a secret forever. I guess I just thought I would have more time to think it through. I took a breath and tried one more time to steel myself. I glare at the door and decide that if I don't do it now, I'm never going to do it, and it has to be done. I push open the door and jog down the stairs. He doesn't even look up. Typical Gibbs.

"Hey," I say, and go straight for the liquor. Hopefully that will tell him I mean business. I put the glasses down and ask "watcha workin' on?"

"Wood," is his short reply. Shit, he really is mad at me. "What's the occasion," he asks as I bring over a wooden chair to sit in.

"I thought we could talk," I tell him. I'm beginning to get more comfortable. I know why I'm here, I know what I want to say. I've got a plan. Part of me believes it, but part of me is scarily reminded of me trying to convince my father of something I knew he didn't like.

"So talk," he says, only glancing at me briefly before returning to his work. I pour us each a drink, I'm definitely going to need one if I'm going to make it through this. I tell him how much I respect him, how much I've learned from him, trying to make him understand that he's a great mentor. He asks me if I've got a point and I'm starting to wonder the same thing when I internally shake my head, clearing myself of the troublesome thoughts. _I can do this,_ I repeat over and over again.

"Are you pissed at me," I ask, although I already know the answer. I want to hear it from him, because now I'm starting to get mad. He has no right to tell me who I can and can't date, all because of some stupid rule, which he cites now. Rule number 12. That pesky little thing has caused many a night's restless sleep. I always wondered what he would do if I broke it. There had been a couple of coworkers I'd have like to date. Kate, I would have at least liked to have a shot before she died, but that stupid rule just got in the way. Paula…well…technically…but she was another story.

It's hard, standing up to Gibbs, but I'm somehow managing to do it. I care about EJ and…and I understand her.

"It's nice to have somebody to talk to," I tell him, hoping he'll understand. Hoping he'll get that I need someone to talk to, someone to share things with, someone to confide in. He shakes his head disapprovingly, but doesn't respond, so I try to provoke him. "What," I ask. He looks at me, eyes piercing into mine, and I can't help but shiver. He looks so…sad.

"You've always had someone to talk to DiNozzo…"

"Wh," I start, but he cuts me off with a name, a name that breaks my heart,

"Ziva." We sit in silence, staring at each other for a moment before I spit out,

"What?"

"Ziva," he repeats, "you can talk to her."

"I…what," I repeat.

"You know DiNozzo," he says, looking at me in a way I can only think of as fatherly, his mood suddenly switching from one of anger to one of disappointment, "I always knew I'd be having this conversation with you one day, but I always thought we'd be having it about a different person." I swallow, hard. I don't want to go down that road again. Not when I'd fought so hard to forget about my feelings for her.

I know I was the jerk. After Jeanne, after Michael, how could she ever forgive me? How could she ever want to be with me? But it still hurt. She says she doesn't want any more field agent types in her life and then she goes off and dates some guy from the CIA? That's Ziva for you. Counterintuitive and nonsensical. I don't get her at all. That's why I like EJ. I understand her. I don't have to think and overanalyze every word she says. We can just…talk. Then again, Ziva had been there for me after Jeanne, and after pretty much every crappy day of my life. And that night in the bar, I had been happy I could be there for her. Now, I don't know what I want, so I look to Gibbs.

"And would you be pissed at me if we were having this conversation about Ziva?" Gibbs just looks at me, and suddenly I know the answer.

"She's good for you," is all he says, before turning back to his wood, a silent way to tell me I was dismissed. I gulp and get up to go, dragging the chair back to where it belonged. At the foot of the stairs though, I stop. I have one question and one question only. I don't care about EJ, I'll figure out what I'm going to do about her later. I just need to know,

"Is this your screwed up way of giving me permission?"

"Get out of my house," he orders. I smile. That response is all the confirmation I need.

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><p><strong>Oh dear this is so OCC. I apologize! Anyway, this will probably be just a one shot unless somebody really wants me to continue. :D Let me know what you thought! <strong>

**xo-Erika-xo**


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